Once upon a Spring morn ou-2 Read online

“Monsieur Vidal! Monsieur Vidal!”

  The steward of the Springwood looked up from the parchment to see one of the gardeners hasten through the doorway. Vidal set his quill aside. “Oui, Morell?”

  “Sieur, there is a Sprite in the arbor, and she says she has dreadful news for you.”

  “A Sprite?”

  “Oui, and she is weeping.”

  Vidal stood. “Lead the way.”

  Moments later, it was Vidal who wept, and he called the staff together to announce the dire news carried by Sprites in swift relay: during a battle with Redcaps and Bogles and Trolls, Princess Celeste and Sieur Roel had drowned.

  Battle? asked some; Drowned? asked others, while many burst into tears, though others choked back their grief.

  But Vidal had little else to tell them, for the Sprite had known nought about those dire events except that Anton was leading the warband back to the manor, and there were wounded to tend.

  Within a candlemark, falcons flew to the manors of the Winterwood and the Autumnwood and the Summerwood, bearing the terrible word.

  The first to receive the falcon-borne news was Steward Arnot at Winterwood Manor, for it lay closest to the Springwood. He gathered the staff and made the announcement of Celeste’s and Roel’s deaths. Cries broke out and many wept, for the princess was well loved. The gala they had planned for the return of Prince Borel and Lady Michelle would now be set aside. “These will be sad times, and we must bear up,” said Arnot. “A memorial will be held in Springwood Manor, and not only will Prince Borel and Lady Michelle pass through on their way there, but also passing through will be Princess Liaze and her contingent and Prince Alain and his, and so we will host all.” He turned to the housekeepers.

  “Hang the door with black crepe and tie the candelabras with black ribbon.” And then he said to the seamstresses,

  “We will need black armbands for all staff and visitors.”

  “Steward?” asked a skinny lad.

  “Redieu,” acknowledged Arnot.

  “Are Prince Borel and his lady still at the Summerwood?”

  “Oui, I believe they are yet there. Along with Jules and that part of the warband Lord Borel took with him, they are stopping over on their return from Roulan Vale.”

  “And the falcons have flown to each of the forests bearing this dreadful news?”

  “Oui, Steward Vidal has sent falcons to all, including one to King Valeray and Queen Saissa.”

  “And so they will be here as well?”

  “It depends on their route, but we will plan for them passing through.”

  On a croquet court at Autumnwood Manor, Liaze handed Luc her mallet and smiled as she took the message vial from Jean.

  “ ’Twas another Springwood bird, m’lady,” said the falconer.

  “Two birds in less than a sevenday? What, I wonder, is my little sister up to now?” Liaze opened the container and unrolled the tissue.

  She read the missive and fell to her knees wailing.

  Luc knelt beside her and took her in his arms.

  In the Summerwood, Alain, grim-faced and gripping a falcon-borne message, walked into the chamber where sat Camille and Borel and Michelle.

  Alain’s voice choked as he said, “I have some dreadful news.” Falcons winged back unto Springwood Manor bearing messages, and Steward Vidal announced to the Springwood staff that all kindred and their retinues were on their way.

  15

  Chanson

  To larboard and starboard great crags reared up from the sea, sheer stone rising out of the depths and reaching toward the dark sky. Waves crashed against rock and pitched up and fell and rebounded, the water heaving and roiling, the pattern unpredictable as billows crossed and crisscrossed among the monoliths, reinforcing here, canceling there, the sea a boiling fury.

  And amid this chaos plunged the Eagle, the bow rising up and over a wave to hurtle down into the trough beyond. Rain hammered and lightning stroked and thunder shattered the shrieking air.

  “Steady on, Gervaise, steady on,” called the captain above the boom and howl.

  “Aye, aye, My Lord Captain,” cried the helmsman.

  Celeste turned to Chevell and asked, “Captain, what if one of those bolts from above strikes a mast?”

  “Most likely it’ll splinter it,” replied Chevell.

  “Then I will pray that the lightning stays far away, or if not, that it altogether avoids the Sea Eagle.” The wind down upon the deck buffeted the crew, and it swirled this way and that, but aloft at the topsails it blew more or less steadily across the larboard stern and toward the starboard bow, the wind pennants atop the masts flowing that way.

  “Princess, remember, keep your eye on the streamers,” called Gervaise, pointing above, “for that shows the air what be driving the Eagle and not this muddle down adeck.”

  “Oui, Gervaise,” Celeste called back, “I remember.” On they plowed through the raging waters, the ship rolling leftward here and rightward there and at times running eerily calm. And the rain descended in furious sheets, the churning wind driving it into face and back and flank. In spite of her slicker, Celeste became thoroughly soaked, chill water blowing into her hood and running down neck and shoulders and arms and breasts and stomach and onward.

  Hewitt came running with capped mugs of hot tea, and all adeck savored the warmth.

  And still the Sea Eagle plunged on. A candlemark and then another went by, and the day grew even dimmer, and still the storm raged, lightning cracking and thunder crashing and hammering rain pelting down.

  Roel leaned over to Celeste and said, “Rather like a ride on a wild horse, eh?”

  Celeste barked a laugh. “Given a choice between the two, I’d take the horse.”

  “Aw, this is nothin’,” called Gervaise. “Why, once we were-”

  “The wind is shifting deasil, Captain,” said Celeste, her eye on the pennants above, the streamers now swinging out toward the starboard. “It’s coming abeam.”

  “Oui, I see it,” answered Chevell. “It means we’ll have to change course.”

  “Go out the starboard way?”

  “Oui.”

  And still the day dimmed as evening approached.

  The Sea Eagle plunged toward the turn, and Chevell called, “Ready, Gervaise?”

  “Ready, My Lord Captain.”

  “Just past this isle, Helmsman.”

  “Oui, Captain.”

  And as the Eagle slid beyond the crag, there came drifting on the air the sound of singing-women’s voices-and Chevell managed to say, “The Sirenes.” But nought else passed his lips, as on halting steps he jerked toward the port wale.

  Roel turned toward Celeste, an agonized look on his face, but then he, too, stumbled toward the larboard rail, as did Gervaise, and Anton, and Florien, and even Hewitt, the boy last of all.

  Celeste leapt forward and took the helm and spun the wheel to starboard-“Come, my lady, it’s just you and me now”-and slowly the Eagle swung rightward, toward the outbound leg of the passage through the Iles de Chanson. As the ship came onto the planned course, Celeste straightened the wheel, and onward the Eagle plunged, bearing her cargo of the entranced as well as a lone woman.

  And still rain hammered down, and still lightning stroked and thunder roared, yet somehow the singing penetrated the din. How it could do so, Celeste did not know, yet do so it did. There did not seem to be any words to the song, just marvelous voices soaring. To Celeste’s ear it was beautiful, but nothing more than that; yet to the men it was spellbinding.

  Celeste looked in the direction toward which the men peered, but in the dimness and sheets of rain she saw nought of the singers. She turned her attention back to the ship and said, “Well, my lady, a candlemark more and we’ll be free of these isles. Mayhap ere then, we will run beyond the reach of the Sirenes and the men will come to their senses. And so, fair maiden, sail on.”

  Another quarter candlemark passed, and if anything the singing grew louder. Celeste sighed, and kept th
e ship running on course.

  But then the wind began to shift deasil once more, the pennants above swinging ’round. Gervaise’s words came back to her: “My lady, should ye have to take the helm, remember, keep the wind anywhere in the quarter from stern to larboard beam. Anythin’ else and the sails’ll either be luffin’, or the wind’ll be blowin’ us hind’ards.”

  “Oh, Mithras, Gervaise,” Celeste said to herself. “If I turn rightward once more, that means-” Celeste spun the wheel to the starboard, and the ship departed from the planned course. And still the day darkened as the fringe of night came on. Celeste frowned in concentration, trying to recall details of the map Chevell had used when they had planned their passage. But it was useless, for though she could remember the course they had laid out, they rest of the archipelago was a veritable maze. Celeste groaned. “Oh, why didn’t I think to bring the map to deck?”

  Ahead in the dimness a great dark mass loomed, and again Celeste turned the ship starboard, and deeper in among the monoliths plowed the Sea Eagle. And still the songs of the Sirenes followed, the men oblivious to all but the singing.

  Night fell, darkness absolute, but for lightning flaring.

  And where before Celeste had prayed for the strokes to stay far away, now she prayed they would split the sky at hand.

  Another quarter candlemark fled into the past, and onward through the storm and the dark drove the Eagle, now sailing for the wrong side of the archipelago.

  Another bolt hammered down, and Celeste gasped in fear and spun the wheel rightward, for looming up on the larboard bow stood a monstrous crag.

  Slowly the Eagle heeled over. “Come on, my lady, come on,” cried Celeste. And as the Sirenes sang an incredibly beautiful wordless aria, a terrible scraping shuddered along the hull, the ship juddering in response. Celeste called out to Mithras for aid, and then unto the Three Sisters. And of a sudden the Eagle came free, and once more she sailed in clear water.

  Another lightning bolt flared out from the ebon sky, and Celeste glanced at the pennants above. Now the wind swung back widdershins, and Celeste haled the ship ’round to larboard.

  On plunged the Eagle, plowing through black night in a raging sea, a storm hammering her sails. And among a labyrinth of deadly crags dodged Celeste, jinking the ship left and right, steering by lightning flares alone, and praying for the Fates to guide her through.

  Starboard and larboard and to the fore loomed stone, all of it perilously close, and she heeled the ship this way and that, sometimes certain that she would crash and founder the Eagle and kill all aboard. Yet somehow she managed to evade disaster, though at times the hull scraped against stone walls.

  Again and again lightning stroked, and once more the wind began to shift widdershins, Celeste turning the ship larboard in response.

  Another quarter candlemark elapsed, and another quarter mark after, and still the Eagle veered and slued and cut among monoliths, and at times seemed to slide altogether sideways, riding on thwartwise waves.

  And then of a sudden the wind adeck stopped whirling, and a strong flow blew against the larboard beam. The goosewinged sails took up the air, and the Sea Eagle leapt forward in response.

  The storm began to fade, as did the songs of the Sirenes, and soon there was nought but a gentle rain falling, and the singing was gone altogether. And the men began to come to their senses, Cabin Boy Hewitt first of all, and he scrambled about lighting lanterns on the stern. And as the entrancement vanished, Roel turned and stepped to Celeste and put an arm about her, but he said nought as she kept a tight grip on the wheel.

  “Merci, Princess,” said Captain Chevell, “for getting us through a tight place; else we’d have all been drowned.”

  Gervaise beamed, his chest swelling with pride, for, after all, he was the one who had taught the princess how to handle the helm. “Any trouble, my lady?” Celeste looked at him and then burst out laughing in giddy relief, and she managed at last to let go of the wheel. She reached for Roel and embraced him, and her laughter suddenly turned to tears.

  16

  Brados

  “I could not help myself, cherie,” said Roel. “I had no will of my own.”

  Celeste smiled and said, “They say the music of the Fauns does the same to women.”

  “Music of the Fauns?”

  “Oui. A type of Fey. They have the legs, tail, and ears of a deer, but the faces of handsome youths. They play white willow-root pipes, and somehow women, or, rather, females-be they human, Elven, Nymphs, or ought else-become completely entranced. So, my love, to fall prey to something over which you have no control whatsoever, ’twas and ’tis no dishonor, for I know you love me still.”

  “How did you know I was feeling dishonor?”

  “Your look told all, Roel.”

  “My look?”

  “Oui. When the singing first came riding on the wind, you looked at me in distress, as if you were somehow betraying me, yet I knew that you were helpless before the lure of the Sirenes.”

  A fleeting smile crossed Roel’s features. “It was an ordeal, though not an unpleasant one.”

  “Careful, my love, for my clemency only goes so far. Absolution, I give you, but I’d rather not hear the details.”

  “Oh, but I didn’t, I mean, I-”

  Celeste broke into laughter. “I’m teasing you, cheri.” They lay together in the narrow bunk, with Roel propped on an elbow gazing down at Celeste. And still a gentle rain in the night fell across the Eagle and the sea, the ship now running toward the pirate stronghold on the isle of Brados. All the crew had hailed the princess for bearing them to safety, and though she acknowledged their praise, all she really wanted to do was rest, for she was completely wrung out. And so, after a hasty meal, she and Roel had retired.

  Of a sudden Celeste grew sober and a frisson shuddered up her spine. “Your ordeal might have been a pleasant one, but mine was anything but.” Roel kissed her on the forehead and said, “Yet you managed to get us free.”

  Celeste put her hand over her mouth and yawned, then said, “ ’Tis a miracle I didn’t founder the ship, scraping against the stone as I did.” Again she yawned.

  “Miracle? Mayhap. Yet I ween the Fates are yet watching o’er you.”

  “O’er us,” murmured Celeste, and then she fell asleep.

  Dawn came upon a fair ocean, the sky clear, a goodly breeze blowing from just starwise of sunup. Standing nigh the helm, Chevell called to the mainmast lookout,

  “Any sails, Thome? Lateen? Sunup or sunwise.”

  “Non, My Lord Captain. The sea, her bosom be empty,” came the reply from the crow’s nest.

  “Keep a sharp eye, then, for the corsair; she’s bound for Brados as are we.”

  “Aye, aye, my lord.”

  Chevell turned to Florien. “As soon as anything is sighted at all, let me know.”

  “Aye, aye, my lord.”

  “Pass the word on to Armond when he relieves you,” added Chevell.

  “Oui, my lord, I will.”

  Chevell retired to his cabin to break fast. In the passageway he met Celeste and Roel, just then emerging from their own quarters. “Join me, Princess, Chevalier.

  And, my lady, there’s something I would discuss with you o’er the morning meal.”

  “As you will, Captain,” replied Celeste.

  Hewitt brought gruel and fresh-made bread and a pot of tea, along with a daily ration of limes. As Chevell ladled porridge into the bowls, he said, “Princess, if we don’t see the raider by midmorn, I’ll have to break off the pursuit.” He held up a hand palm out to forestall her objections. “It merely means we cannot o’ertake the corsair before it reaches safe port in Brados. Yet even though we break off, I still plan on going after the map, but I would not have the lookout on Brados espy our ship, for that would put them on alert.” Chevell looked at Roel and smiled, and then turned back to Celeste.

  “Instead, we’ll need use stealth and misdirection to get the map: Sieur Roel and I will free-c
limb the citadel walls in the night and retrieve the chart, while Armond and the crew provide a suitable diversion.” Celeste nodded and said, “And my role would be. .?”

  “I would have you remain on the Eagle and be safe,” said Chevell.

  Celeste looked at Roel, and he smiled. But she frowned and said, “Did you not tell him I can free-climb as well, cheri?”

  Roel sighed. “Oui, I did.”

  Celeste turned to Chevell and cocked an eyebrow.

  “My lady, with but two of us, just Roel and me, we will likely go unnoticed, especially with the proper diversion.”

  “Three is a small party as well, Captain,” said Celeste, “and just as likely to go unnoticed, with the proper diversion, that is.”

  Now Chevell sighed and looked at Roel. “You said this is the way it would be.”

  Roel nodded.

  Celeste now turned an eye on Roel. “Plotting behind my back, love?”

  “Celeste, I knew you would come, but the good captain insisted he make an attempt to dissuade you.”

  “Blame it on me, would you?” said Chevell. Then he burst out laughing.

  Soon all three were laughing, but finally Chevell retrieved the drawings and sketches he and Roel had pondered over. As he laid them before Celeste, he said,

  “Very well, Princess, should the corsair escape us this morn, here be the plan so cleverly contrived by Roel; hence this be the way we three will go about retrieving the map.”

  Midmorning came, and still the lookout had seen no corsair or ought else for that matter, but for a distant gam of whales blowing. And so Chevell, now adeck, altered course, setting the sails to come by circuitous route to the far side of the isle of Brados, where they would most likely not be seen. “Besides,” said the captain, “ ’tis there where lies beached a single-masted sloop we can pull free at high tide.” He turned to his first officer. “Armond, put Geoff to work on making sails for that craft. Her mast stands at some thirty-five or forty feet, her boom at twenty or so. A main and a jib ought to be enough.”

  “Aye, aye, My Lord Captain.”

  As Armond strode away, Celeste at the helm said,